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Best Place to Ad It Up
Zipatoni's
By Christy Marshall
They call themselves Zippers. They come to work wearing anything they want, with dogs, cats and a pair of rats in tow. When daycare is closed, children come, too.
The elevator doors at Zipatoni’s Washington Avenue office slide open to reveal an oversized anthropomorphized tomato (a globe from an old 905 liquor store, converted into the company’s mascot). The walls of the full-service marketing agency are ornamented with locks from old safes, a lever-and-pulley system from an old theater, switches from an old electric company. One wall is a glass garage door that opens and closes loudly. The light fixtures are mainly old street lamps, with the exception of the conference-room fixture, which is the base of a Mercury rocket. Each workstation is decorated to the hilt, reflecting the eccentricities and passions of its inhabitant. A corrugated-steel igloo has been converted into a game room. (Sony PlayStation is one of Zip’s clients.)
The perks are plentiful: a fully stocked kitchen with Einstein’s bagels every morning, peanut butter–and–jelly and grilled cheese sandwiches at lunch, an open bar at the end of the day. The office closes the week between Christmas and New Year’s Day and at 4 p.m. on every Monday the Rams play in town (employees need to vacate their parking spots). In the summer, the office closes at 1 p.m. every other Friday. After one year, employees get five bonus days added to their 18 days of paid time off (which can be used for vacation, sick days or personal time). Two weeks of parental leave are granted for the arrival of a baby Zip. The company pays for covered parking and reimburses employees $15 a month for any gym membership, which means that the nearby Gold’s gym costs them a measly $5 a month.
The reception desk is manned by Helen Griswold, “the supervisor of happy,” according to employee Nicki Boone. “Do you feel my energy?” Griswold asks. “I’d rather be at work than I would be at home.” Copywriter Travis Ulmer started at Zipatoni three years ago, right out of college, and has no plans to leave. “The culture here is one of openness,” he says. “Anything you think of you can do.”
Especially if it’s funny. When Ulmer returned from his honeymoon, everything he owned had disappeared. “It was like I had never worked here,” he says with a sigh. Another time, his desk drawers were lined in plastic and filled with water … and 30 live fish.
According to Lynn Caiazza, who’s been at Zipatoni for 11 years, “It is like going to work with your best friends. Sometimes you don’t get along, sometimes you do—but Zipatoni always challenges you. I have never felt like I was stuck in a rut here.”
Being a Zipper isn’t for everyone. “There’s no hand-holding,” says creative director Mark Miselnicky. “Some people don’t work out here. The chemistry is key.”
Karen Sauder, president of the agency, concurs: “If you’re a wallflower, this is not a good spot for you. We’re pretty loud. We want people who jump in and have an opinion.”
And who wouldn’t want a rat or two hanging out down the hall?
Zipatoni's
By Christy Marshall
They call themselves Zippers. They come to work wearing anything they want, with dogs, cats and a pair of rats in tow. When daycare is closed, children come, too.
The elevator doors at Zipatoni’s Washington Avenue office slide open to reveal an oversized anthropomorphized tomato (a globe from an old 905 liquor store, converted into the company’s mascot). The walls of the full-service marketing agency are ornamented with locks from old safes, a lever-and-pulley system from an old theater, switches from an old electric company. One wall is a glass garage door that opens and closes loudly. The light fixtures are mainly old street lamps, with the exception of the conference-room fixture, which is the base of a Mercury rocket. Each workstation is decorated to the hilt, reflecting the eccentricities and passions of its inhabitant. A corrugated-steel igloo has been converted into a game room. (Sony PlayStation is one of Zip’s clients.)
The perks are plentiful: a fully stocked kitchen with Einstein’s bagels every morning, peanut butter–and–jelly and grilled cheese sandwiches at lunch, an open bar at the end of the day. The office closes the week between Christmas and New Year’s Day and at 4 p.m. on every Monday the Rams play in town (employees need to vacate their parking spots). In the summer, the office closes at 1 p.m. every other Friday
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The reception desk is manned by Helen Griswold, “the supervisor of happy,” according to employee Nicki Boone. “Do you feel my energy?” Griswold asks. “I’d rather be at work than I would be at home.” Copywriter Travis Ulmer started at Zipatoni three years ago, right out of college, and has no plans to leave. “The culture here is one of openness,” he says. “Anything you think of you can do.”
Especially if it’s funny. When Ulmer returned from his honeymoon, everything he owned had disappeared. “It was like I had never worked here,” he says with a sigh. Another time, his desk drawers were lined in plastic and filled with water … and 30 live fish.
According to Lynn Caiazza, who’s been at Zipatoni for 11 years, “It is like going to work with your best friends. Sometimes you don’t get along, sometimes you do—but Zipatoni always challenges you. I have never felt like I was stuck in a rut here.”
Being a Zipper isn’t for everyone. “There’s no hand-holding,” says creative director Mark Miselnicky. “Some people don’t work out here. The chemistry is key.”
Karen Sauder, president of the agency, concurs: “If you’re a wallflower, this is not a good spot for you. We’re pretty loud. We want people who jump in and have an opinion.”
And who wouldn’t want a rat or two hanging out down the hall?
